Drake and Curren met within the room set aside for Magical works.
The Foundation was eerily quiet, having been closed to the public for some months.

The pair drew an intricate symbol upon one of the work surfaces, noticing that similarities were developing within their glyphs, the avatars influence perhaps.
The next few hours passed as Curren wove the strands of Metamantic power forming the anchoring, Drake instead focused his concentration upon the blades uttilising his knowledge of metals and enchantments.

The storms power raged within the core auras of the blades, the pair struggled to look upon the swords due to their crackling brilliance.
This was more than a simple lightning spell formula, this was far more pure, contained destruction.
The trick was to contain it long enough to filter into the construct of the anchoring, the anchoring floated within astral space resembling two globular tubes of molten glass shining in the luminance of the lightning below.

Breathing deeply both concentrated focusing their collective wills upon the power and the anchoring, as if trying to keep a cats cradle still and whole.
Threads of power extended from the anchoring to the blades, yet they floated separately, counting they released again exerting every measure of control they had over the elemental energy, trying to limit it flow into the glass.
A flash and a streak cut across the room, not only blistering the wall but punching a hole through it, Drake coaxed the metal forcing it to rein in the power, forcing it to act as a circuit and breaker.

Slowly the lightning flowed into the glass and the Metamagic held, as the pair felt more confident Curren lowered the anchorings down into the blades, Drake opened the way.

Curren and Drake stood, sweat pouring from their brows, looking upon Truth and Justice, each appeared more silvered, paler, with strange darting shadows that played across the blades.